


What lies beneath

by ala



Category: Thor (Movies)
Genre: Body Horror, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-23
Updated: 2012-12-23
Packaged: 2017-11-22 02:37:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,325
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/604886
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ala/pseuds/ala





	What lies beneath

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Barkour](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Barkour/gifts).



The court was in a mood to celebrate the defeat of its former king, overindulging in strong wine and mead--even dancing, although the festive din of the revelers nearly drowned out the music. Sif spotted Fandral twirling a lady around, making her shriek with laughter.

On the royal dais the mood was much more somber. Beside her Thor sat stiffly, the polite stretch of his lips a mere shadow of his usual exuberant grin. Frigga tried to keep up a steady stream of conversation with Sif, but there was only so much small talk one could make without brushing up against the one subject no one would touch. Odin had not said a word since he sat down, and when he finished eating he left to take his nightly walk along the palace’s numerous arcades. Thor quickly excused himself to follow, leaving Frigga and Sif alone. Sif stared out across the hall until all she saw was a blur of light and color.

“You haven’t seen him yet, have you?” Frigga’s soft query cut through Sif’s thoughts. There was no need to ask who “he” was.

“Only when Thor brought him through the hall to the Allfather,” Sif replied, “not since. I don’t even know where he is.”

He had not been given a chance to speak; Odin had immediately ordered the Eijenhir to take him away.

“Hellir.”

Of course; the cell deep in the palace catacombs was as secure as Odin’s treasure vault and protected by magic far older and stronger than the Allfather himself. But that hadn’t stopped her before. A small part of her mind was already mapping the best path to it and ways to get past the guards and wards while the rest of her rational mind screamed at it to be quiet, that he wasn’t hers anymore.

Frigga stared at her lap for a long moment before placing something on the table in front of Sif; it was the intricately carved--and instantly recognizable--flask in which she carried her undiluted wine.

“I would wish to give my son something more sustaining than the water he has,” she began in the regal voice reserved for formal court announcements. “Unfortunately the stress of the last few days has taken its toll on me and I feel I cannot make the journey. Would you go, dear Sif, and give him a token from his mother? I know you must be tired and it’s a terrible imposition--” she trailed off, looking for all the world like she didn’t want to ask this of her protege but didn’t have a choice.

Sif acknowledged the gift the Queen had given her with a nod. Taking the flask she curtsied deeply and stepped down from the dias. As she made her way through the hall Freya caught her eye. The older woman raised her goblet at Sif in silent salute before turning her attention back to her laughing dinner companions.

She slipped through one of the secret paths that Loki had shown her long ago, bypassing most of the guards as she made her way down past Odin’s vault. There was no way to get down to Hellir unnoticed, however. Her heels clicked rhythmically on the stone floor of the curving corridor as she approached the cell where he was held, alerting the guards to her presence long before she came into sight.

"Who's there? Call out!" one of the guards yelled. She did not answer, and instead continued walking. “No one is allowed down here.You won’t be getting a piece of him, Allfather’s orders.” The guards were there to protect the prisoner as much as keep him in.

As she stepped into the weak torchlight of the small room outside of the cellboth guards instantly dropped to their knees.

"Begging your pardon, my lady," apologized the one who had shouted, “but the Allfather has forbidden entrance to anyone but himself. You will have to go back.” 

Odin would have placed only the brightest and most loyal guards at this post and Sif recognized these two placed here. They had been under her command before their promotion to the ranks of the Eijenhir. While no one would doubt their loyalty to Asgard and its king, they were also bound by another oath given the first time they had killed on the battlefield; they had pledged their oath to War, and here she had come.

Sif’s smile showed too many teeth.

"The Queen has bade me to bring the prisoner something to drink." She raised the flask and gave him her most commanding stare. In an instant she changed from Sif glittering in her finery before them to the goddess of War above them. The guards caved.

"Of course, my lady, but it won't do him much good."  She raised an eyebrow in question but he only took a torchiere off the wall and thrust it at her before working on the complicated locks of the door. The magical barriers, the real force preventing the prisoner from escaping, remained.  "You'll need this."

As soon as she stepped into the pitch dark cell the guard closed and locked the door behind her. She used the torch to look around; the entire room was scarcely bigger than the extravagant bed she had been given when she moved to the palace.

Slumped in the corner was Loki himself, his face turned away from her and his hands bound tightly to his torso. For a fleeting moment she was pleased to see that the large silver muzzle had apparently been removed; only years of conditioning on the battlefield kept her from showing any reaction when the light hit his face. The silver muzzle was gone yes, but it had been replaced with thin gold lines: his mouth had been sewn shut.

He made no acknowledgement as she approached and instead stared blankly at the wall. She waved the flask in front of her and set it down carefully. She did not miss his subtle flinch as she drew out the small knife from her garter and knelt beside him. Up close she could see his eyes were dull and blood red; they matched the dried blood on the uneven stitches. She recognized the fine gold thread as the product of Frigga's spindle and idly wondered if the Queen knew to what purpose her fine work had gone. It made no matter. With quick careful flicks of her wrist she cut through the threads, careful not to nick his dry and chapped lips.

As soon as Loki could fully open his mouth he gave a great gasp and lunged his head towards the flask. She brought it to his lips and held his head as he gulped down the strong vintage greedily. Some spilled, the dark wine dripping down the still-attached threads before staining her dress.

When the wine was gone she carefully pulled out the last of the threads. His body had tried to heal around them and bled when she was forced to tug them free. His skin would be marked forever by this punishment. She gently brushed a smear of crusted blood away from the corner of his mouth and gave a wry smile; she had always been fond of scars.

"My lady," he rasped, no more than a whisper, "thank you for your kindness."

Sif began wiping off the blood and wine from his grimy face with fabric torn from her skirt. It hardly helped, but she desperately needed something to do.

"Has the would-be emperor remembered his manners? A poor farm girl like me should be so honored."

“It’s been a very long time since you were a poor farm girl, Sif.” She could barely make out the words.

Sif paused and looked down. His eyes were still red but his gaze was sharper now.

“You are correct, as always. I am much more than I once was.” She resumed her ministrations, “for example, did you know that I have never failed to kill those who have tried to kill me?”

“It was never my intention...” he began.

At his words Sif wanted to cry. She had seen Loki lustful, mischievous, violent, ranting and raving, but she had never seen him so quietly apologetic. It was such a change since she had last seen him all those months ago, full of pride and thinly veiled resentment.

As she often did, she hid her despair behind a brusque facade.

“What, to kill me? Don’t tell me that the Destroyer escaped the Vault, sent itself to Midgard and began to annihilate all in its path on its own?”

“Sif, it has _never_ been my intention to hurt _you_.” He paused and something that might have been the ghost of his former mischievous glee flickered on his face and was gone. “Unless of course you asked me nicely.”

Sif ignored the bait and scrubbed harder at his cheek, ignoring his sharp intake of breath at the sting.

“Heimdall told me of your ravings. Proclaiming yourself a god? Wanting to rule Midgard? You, rule? Ruling requires order, discipline, routine. A king cannot hide himself in the library with arcane texts. He cannot play tricks on the guards. A king is ruled by his position as much as he rules his people. You'd feel trapped and bored within a week."

“I was _meant_ to be a king! That was stolen from me!” The angry outburst precipitated a coughing fit.

Sif stopped scrubbing and stared at him, mouth agape, as he gasped for breath.

“Royal by birth, yes. But that doesn’t mean you would be suited to ruling. It’s not in your nature.”

He flinched, although she hadn’t touched him.

“I could have made you a queen.” The statement was so absurd that Sif couldn’t help but give a sharp laugh.

“By killing my closest friend? Betraying the realm that I have pledged myself to? Turning your back on Frigga, who has been as much a mother to me as she has to you?”

“She’s not my mother, haven’t you heard?”

“She wiped your arse and held you while you cried and was always there for you throughout your life. She thought you were dead and it nearly destroyed her. I think that makes her your mother far more than any blood tie.

"Furthermore what makes you think I would want to be Queen? War makes kings and deposes them, but a realm ruled by it is doomed to fall. The same with chaos; it comes hand in hand with the deposition of kings but a successful monarch will vanquish it. You would have had to transmute your entire being.”

“To what being, precisely, are you referring?”

“I know who your parents were. I know what lies beneath Odin’s enchantment, and I don’t think I can ever forgive you for it.”

“Then why have you come to torment me if my presence so disgusts you?”

“You lied to _me_ , after what you swore with blood on Yggdrasil. You should have told me as soon as you knew instead of concocting elaborate schemes to kill Thor and destroy Jotunheim!”

“Would you have killed me then my lady? To find out that your lover was one of the savage Frost Giants? Or would you have run to Thor, just like you did.” His sneer was made grotesque by the wounds on his face.

For the first time in a long time--since she had seen him last as King of Asgard--Sif felt rage fill up inside her and she wanted to _hurt_ Loki. She rocked back on her heels in order to look him more clearly.

“I would go to Hel and back a thousand times if I thought it would save you from self-destruction! Do you think I care about your parentage? You learned something important and then shut me out!”

Loki’s gaze slid from hers and his sneer wavered and disappeared. He looked lost and broken, but Sif had no more compassion.

“Thor is the only other person I know who you might confide in; of course I went to him. And then you fought and you fell and we thought you were _dead_ , only to discover you had aligned yourself with those vermin Chitauri. I have seen the damage...thousands of innocents dead in a battle they had no part of.”

He seemed to recover some of his composure and self-possession.

"You are assuming I would care about the well-being of humans.”

She lunged forward and grabbed his chin tightly, not relenting even when he winced in pain.

“Thor does, just as he has always cared about you. And you forget, Liesmith, that I hear the screams of every battle.”

He did not respond to this, but closed his eyes. Sif softened and leaned her forehead against his.She wanted to crack open her ribs and put him inside so that he would always be with her, would never be alone.

"So now, tell me why."

"Why I did it?"

"No, why you felt you had to do it alone."

His eyes snapped open, flickering over her face to discern some other meaning to the words he just said.

“But I though--, that is, you would not betray all you love, the realm...” He trailed off and Sif couldn’t help but grin. Making Loki lose his words had always been one of her favorite pastimes.

She gently rubbed her thumb in circles along his nape.

“Has it been so long, Silvertongue, have you fallen so much that you’ve forgotten what _I_ swore in blood before Yggdrasil?”

She knew the instant he remembered the vow--the blood and passion and whispered words that joined their destinies together. His gaze sharpened, and for the first time since she had entered the cell, for the first time in a _very_ long time, Loki smiled. She leaned forward and softly kissed his lips, enjoying the taste of blood and wine and _him_.


End file.
